


like a shooting star

by candycity



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, angst angst angst, ereri, i am an awful person, riren - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 03:18:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candycity/pseuds/candycity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's survived time and time again through the bloodshed and the fighting and the betrayal and finally, <i>finally</i> the war is over. He's supposed to be healthy, vibrant, brimming with triumph and youthful vitality. He's gotten this far because he <i>fucking refuses to die</i>, and yet -</p><p>Eren is <i>dying.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	like a shooting star

**Author's Note:**

> i'm back to angst, because idk.
> 
> enjoy c:
> 
> oh and p.s. the title is from gone too soon by simple plan in case you didn't get the reference

It _has_ to be a joke.

There’s no other explanation for it. It has to be another of the universe’s cruel, cruel jokes, because there’s no other reason why – right after the war, right after the last titan has been annihilated, after fighting through broken bones and broken hearts and surviving by the skin of his teeth time and time again, _because he fucking refuses to die –_

Eren is _dying._

Overexertion, is Hanji’s hypothesis. It’s unlikely – no, _impossible_ that a human being can take the strain of shifting into a titan and back again repeatedly, impossible that they can bear the furious rate at which the body forces itself to heal; and not to mention the incredible amount of damage Eren has taken, both in titan and human form. It’s not a surprise, she says, as if it’s supposed to make it any better.

It fucking _doesn’t._

Eren’s only seventeen – he’s supposed to still be brimming with youthful exuberance, eyes bright with vitality, strong bones wrapped in lean muscle conditioned from years of rigorous training. He isn’t supposed to be like this: bedridden, helpless, betrayed by his own _body._

Levi remembers the first expedition they had out of the walls after humanity finally won. They’d ventured further than ever before, found the long-abandoned ruins of an extinct society. Hanji had nearly had an aneurysm when they came across a derelict research facility.

Finally, they’d reached the ocean. From the surface, it looked almost serene, like the pictures in Armin’s grandfather’s books – but when they got closer, it was no doubt that the ocean was anything _but_ calm. It spoke of millennia of untamed, unrestrained movement; it was the one entity neither man nor Titan could tame. It was wild, it was dangerous, and the air was thick with salt and the ever-present stench of decomposing marine wildlife.

Eren had _loved_ it.

They'd spent three days at the ocean – Levi remembers the last day. Hanji and her team of only slightly less zealous researchers had already collected more specimens than the supply carts could logically carry, and everyone, with nothing else to do, spent the last day lazing in the sand. He was sitting beside Eren, watching the last rays of the setting sun glance off the deceptively still surface, softly illuminating the jewel-blue of the water. Eren was entranced, but Levi found Eren’s eyes much more interesting: full of barely restrained excitement and yet complete contentment, the image of the sunset reflected in the bright turquoise just a shade brighter than the ocean he was so captivated by.

“What are you staring at?” Eren had asked, finally tearing his gaze away from the water. Levi met his gaze readily.

“You.”

He’d gone red – predictable as ever, even though he was no longer a child. 

“You like it, huh.” He’d said it matter-of-factly, just to see the boy’s eyes light up.

“I could spend the rest of my life here,” the boy had said with a wistful sigh. “We have to leave soon, though.” His fingertips brush the damp sand, as though his very flesh is unwilling to part with the seaside.

“We have the rest of our lives, kid,” Levi had responded. “You’ve plenty of time to gaze at that bigass ocean with those lovey-dovey eyes.”

 

Cut to the present. It's cruel, sickeningly so, because the rest of his life no longer offers him plenty of time – now, there’s hardly any time at all. Levi forces himself to look at the boy, and that familiar nausea rises in him, bile that rises to his throat and leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

Eren – just a few months ago bursting with life and energy and and a neverending flow of obnoxious remarks – looks like a child, with a vulnerability that is the exact opposite of the reckless vitality he usually possesses. Over the past few weeks, he’s deteriorated so rapidly even Hanji is taken aback. His skin has taken on an unhealthy pallor; he’s become little more than skin and bones, his cheekbones and jaw are painfully obvious, and his hipbones are visible even under the baggy clothes that fit him perfectly just weeks ago. His breathing is shallow, and the little gasps he makes in his fitful sleep, like he’s struggling to survive and failing, makes Levi’s heart clench.

“Levi?”

The voice is much too soft. “What is it, Eren?”

“I think I –“ the sentence is interrupted when his body is suddenly wracked with coughs. Levi feels painfully helpless – water and medicine have both been proven useless. _He’s useless_ – the feeling is unfamiliar and he fucking _hates_ it.

“How do you feel?”

A subdued cough. “Like shit. My entire body fucking _hurts._ ”

Eren shifts, sucks in a deep breath like there’s not enough oxygen – _but there’s never enough, is there?_ “How long have I been out?”

“About fourteen hours.” 

“Wow. I sleep like the dead, huh.” Eren tries to laugh, and mostly fails.

“Stop with the dead jokes, it’s not _funny_.” He wants to cry and scream and just fucking break down, because Eren is taking this far too lightly. He’s _dying_ , dammit, doesn’t he care? He’s never going to see the ocean again, never going to laugh with Armin and argue with Mikasa over petty things –

_He’s never going to be there for Levi again, either._

“Sorry. Can’t blame me for trying to lighten the atmosphere, though, it’s like a funeral in here.”

_“Eren.”_

“Okay, I’ll stop.” They sit in silence for a while, Eren occasionally giving a subdued cough.

“Don’t you have any regrets?” Levi asks suddenly. A thoughtful look crosses his face; casts it into shadow.

“Huh. Not really. I lived; I fought. I saw the ocean, and the outside world. 

“And,” he adds, more quietly, “I had you.”

Levi notes the use of the past tense with gritted teeth and a clenched fist. “You still have me. You won’t die, you’ll get better –”

“I’m dying, Levi.” The statement is matter-of-fact, but it’s said with an edge of sadness. “I’m dying, and there’s no going about that. But,” he says, before Levi can protest, “to answer your question – I don’t have any regrets.

“And for the record, Levi,” his voice drops to almost a whisper, “even though it was only for a short time – I’m glad I met you.”

Levi's calm façade shatters at that, and he lowers his head to the crumpled bedsheets to hide his face as tears – the first in years – seep into the fabric, staining them with salt and grief.

Levi spends the rest of the night there, silent sobs wracking his body, and he doesn’t even raise his head when he feels chapped lips press a kiss to his forehead. He’s not sure when the boy drifts off, or when he does.

 

The next day, Eren doesn’t wake up.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are appreciated more than you will ever know.


End file.
